


When You Get There

by SecondFromTheRight



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, From Mention Drabble, Other, mixed POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-13 05:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18462119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondFromTheRight/pseuds/SecondFromTheRight
Summary: Gendry watched as tension fell from Jon and he relaxed back against the pillows, closing his eyes over for a moment. “I need you to take the dragon glass we mined and go to Winterfell.” He ordered.“Winterfell.” He breathed, a million memories, a million dreams going through his mind, Arya in every single one of them. It was where he should have gotten her back to, maybe even where he should have been already.Expansion and continuation ofThe Million And One Ways Arya Could (Should) Have Been Mentioned - Chapter 80





	1. Gendry POV

**Author's Note:**

> I promised this a long time ago now and though I'm not quite feeling it, basically, if I didn't at least start it before the final series, I didn't think I ever would. It's not an encouraging thing to say but I'm hoping the more I write this, the more I will start to get into and feel more confident in it. I will try to get it done as quickly as I can.
> 
> If it helps, I'm figuring the final series is going to frustrate the hell out of me so I see many more Arya Mention drabbles in our future!
> 
> Any reader of only my Arya Mention drabbles will probably find this quite different in style, so I hope this doesn't lessen any love you have for them. The dialogue is the same as the original. And I hope after such a long wait, this doesn't really suck haha. The support I've had from those drabbles has been incredible and I don't want to repay that with crappy, disappointing fic.

When Ser Davos told Gendry that Jon was awake and had requested to see him, Arya went through his mind. She was barely out of his thoughts since Ser Davos had come to his shop and told him he was with the bastard Stark. It only got worse when he actually met the King in the North, he looked so much like her. The way he remembered Ned Stark always had him thinking there was a resemblance there, but the noble’s face had blurred over the years. It was one encounter and Gendry hadn’t known it was so important until afterwards. But Jon – he saw Arya in him. His grey eyes and his dark hair that he thought they both shared with Ned Stark. But even His Grace’s build, his height. Small, unlike Ned Stark, but exactly like Arya. And when he’d smiled, quiet and sincere and like he was allowing Gendry to see something few did…Gendry had remembered his friend.

The resemblance was striking enough but the more time he spent around Jon, the more he realised it wasn’t just that they looked alike, it was their courage, their refusal to give up, their lack of judgement that he’d never found in a noble who didn’t have Stark blood.

Arya would never request to see him though. She’d demand it, or come find him herself. Especially if it was to yell at him.

It was bad enough he couldn’t really fight with any true skill, but to collapse in the snow like he had…he’d failed. Jon had sent him back to send for help and to tell the others, and he hadn’t even been able to do that right. This whole time he’d been trying to make up for what he hadn’t been, for leaving Arya, for losing her, but he couldn’t do anything right. He was never going to be able to even do right by her, even her memory.

“You did well, getting back in time to send for help. Thank you.” Jon said as a greeting when Gendry arrived at the chambers he was using while they stayed at Eastwatch. The King in the North was sitting up in bed, propped against a heap of pillows. Looking at him, at how pale and weak he looked from what had happened, Gendry could only think about the fact that he’d failed, and that Jon was way too kind. Arya wouldn’t have shied away from him falling on his face, he thought. Would she have scowled at him, called him stupid and commented on his lack of grace?

He hovered in the doorway, not wanting to go inside, not feeling worthy enough to go inside. Jon was alive because he was Jon Snow and refused to give up, and everybody else because of Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. He’d never saved anyone, least of all the person he wanted to save most. “I fell in the snow,” He pointed out, thinking about Arya might have said and trying to dismiss any praise. “It’s Ser Davos you should be thanking, Your Grace.”

“I already have.” Jon replied easily. He didn’t smile, but there was a warmth there that Gendry couldn’t look at. Something that said Jon thought they were both worth thanking, as if he could ever be as good as Davos.

“Is that everything you wanted to see me for then?” Gendry asked, bowing his head away from that warmth and appreciation. He didn’t deserve it, not now, and not ever. Jon wouldn’t look at him that way if he knew what he was holding back, if he knew about Arya.

“We’re leaving for King’s Landing in the morning,” Jon announced. “You’re not coming.” He added.

Gendry’s eyes shot to the bastard Stark’s who was already looking at him. “But –“ he protested, but Jon cut him off.

“It’s too dangerous.” Jon reasoned.

Gendry stared at him, feeling the last hope he had him start to drain. He needed to fight, he needed to be part of this. It was the only chance he had to ever make up for anything, to ever be anything. “Your Grace, please.” He tried to argue, finding himself taking slow steps inside the room. He hadn’t found the brotherhood, the kinship, he’d always wanted with the group, but he had found something in Jon and he couldn’t lose the last thing of Arya in his life.

Jon lifted a hand weakly from the furs that covered him. Gendry didn’t know if was to stop his talking or his movement, but he stopped both. “I need you here, in the North.” Jon said, confusing him.

Gendry shook his head. “I don’t...” he frowned, not understanding what was being asked of him.

“Ser Davos tells me you’re a skilled smith.” Jon said as he pushed himself up, sitting higher against the pillows.

Gendry let out a small scoff. “I think Ser Davos is too kind. He hasn’t seen enough of my work to judge,” he dismissed, remembering Davos looking around his shop. He still didn’t understand why Davos had such faith in him. He hadn’t lived up to it either. “But I did train under Tobho Mott,” he said, a rare thing he was proud of. Jon frowned, staring at Gendry. “He’s the best on the Street of Steel, in King’s Landing,” Gendry explained, remembering Jon was of the North and only of the North. He didn’t know if His Grace had ever been to King’s Landing. Arya had never said if it was the only time she’d been, and he hadn’t asked. Now he’d have to ask Jon if he wanted to know. “I may fall on my face out there, but I know my way around a forge.” He added, distracting himself as much as anything. It was the one thing he could do, the one thing he truly knew how to do right.

Jon nodded, looking down at his lap thoughtfully. “Do you know how to smith Valyrian steel?” he asked, turning his head back towards Gendry.

“In theory,” he replied easily with a shrug, not thinking about it. He shook his head at himself. “I mean yes, I do know how, I know the method. It’s just…it’s rare,” he continued, walking further into the room and towards Jon, he was comfortable with this. Maybe he could contribute something real with this. “Rarer still because it doesn’t fail its owner and the few ones that have it…well, Lords tend to be protective over their arms, whether they use them or not,” he said, unable to keep the judgement from his voice. He’d spent his whole life in King’s Landing watching Master Mott serve man after man who wanted something that made him look good, not something that they were valuing to keep them alive. Not enough of them used what they bought or had commissioned for anything but talk. “I remember Master Mott only having it in the shop a couple of times.” He said. Both times he’d made Gendry pay attention as he’d worked the steel, but Gendry hadn’t been allowed to do it himself.

“What about dragon glass?” Jon immediately followed with, silencing Gendry again.

“Your Grace.” He cautioned with a single shake of his head.

“Gendry, could you do it?” Jon pushed.

He let out a sigh. “I think so. If I can work out how it responds, how it takes to tooling,” he mused. “I should be able to make some kind of dagger with it, at least. It shouldn’t be too hard,” he said, thinking that as long as he could see it, work with it, he could figure it out. “But I’ll need practice.” He warned.

“That’s fine,” Jon accepted as he gave his own sigh, one of relief. Gendry watched as tension fell from Jon and he relaxed back against the pillows, closing his eyes over for a moment. “I need you to take the dragon glass we mined and go to Winterfell.” He ordered.

“Winterfell.” He breathed, a million memories, a million dreams going through his mind, Arya in every single one of them. It was where he should have gotten her back to, maybe even where he should have been already.

“It’s –“

“The Stark home, I know.” Gendry finished for him distractedly. He didn’t need Jon to explain about Winterfell as he had done for King’s Landing, he already knew. He knew about the hot springs, and the heart tree. He knew the smith’s name, Mikken. Night after night Arya had told him about it, and he’d listened. It was the Stark home. Her home. It was where he’d – they’d – spent years trying to get to… Now he was really going? Alone? When Davos had offered the idea of him going there, he’d wanted to. But there was one thing Arya had loved more than her beloved Winterfell, her beloved brother Jon Snow. He hadn’t been able to keep her safe, or get her home, but maybe he could do something for her brother. Now he was asking him to go there…but did he really want to see it without Arya?

“Is that a problem?” Jon asked, seemingly noticing his distracted mood. “You could mayhaps do it here, on the wall. There’s a forge at Castle Black –“

“No!” Gendry interrupted, answering his own question. “I’d…I’d like to go to Winterfell,” he said carefully. “Thank you, Your Grace.” He bowed his head again, not able to meet Jon’s eyes when he didn’t know the reason why he wanted to go.

Jon was quiet for a moment and Gendry kept his focus to the floor, hoping it would pass. “You’ll leave at first light,” the King in the North finally said, his voice tired in a way that had Gendry risk peering at him even as he kept his head lowered. The King in the North wasn’t looking at him anyway, his attention with his thoughts. “The Winterfell guards…” he trailed off with a sigh, Gendry lifted his head enough to fully see him. Some of the tension from before was back, responsibility looming over him again. “My remaining men will accompany you.” he finished, sadness for the men they’d lost here clearly weighing on him.

Standing there and staring at him, Gendry remembered that Jon was a leader, a real one. He was a good man who wanted to do good. And he trusted Gendry, he’d allowed him to come here, welcomed him into a purpose. Now he was trusting him with even more, in his home and with his people, with something precious and possibly vital to winning this war. And all Gendry had done was lie to him. How would he feel if he knew that Gendry had already had the most important thing to him in his presence, and he’d failed to protect her? Would he still choose him to do this?

“Gendry?” Jon said with a concerned frown on his face, aimed at him, _worried_ about him.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but before you entrust me with the Winterfell forge and this task there’s something I need to tell you,” he heard the words coming out of his mouth before he’d truly decided to say them. He didn’t let himself take a breath in case he changed his mind. “I lied to you. That is, I didn’t tell you everything, the truth.” He said quickly, trying to get it out.

Jon didn’t look angry, instead he settled back against his pillows once again and met his eyes. “You didn’t meet my father.” He assumed, said more calmly than Gendry could understand.

“No, I did!” Gendry replied with some panic, offence he had no right to pushing him. But somehow it mattered. He hadn’t lied, he didn’t want to lie. When Ser Davos had said to lie about who he was, Gendry knew immediately it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t keep who he was from a Stark, even a bastard one – especially the bastard Stark. Even if he didn’t tell him everything, even if he chose not to tell Jon about Arya, he would show himself. Show his best, if he could. Arya had trusted him with who she was, and he would never betray that, not in any way. That went beyond just never telling who she was to others, it meant giving the same back at least. “He wanted to buy a piece of my armour.” He continued, proud of a single encounter that had first woven The Starks into his life.

“I’ll take that as a recommendation of your ability then,” Jon said with a small smile, friendly, that made Gendry feel even worse. Realising he wasn’t smiling back, Jon looked worried again. “What is it?” he asked.

Leaning to his side, he found himself shifting his feet. “It’s just…he’s not the only…” he trailed off. Closing his eyes, he exhaled a heavy sigh. “You’re the third Stark I’ve met,” he said before realising the words, his eyes shooting back open. “I mean, I know you’re not…I know you’re a Snow,” he tried to correct himself, wondering which thing was going to upset Jon more.

“Tell me.” Jon ordered, his low tone stopping Gendry’s rambling.

“I spent the first years of the war travelling North…” he paused, realising he may be about to ruin his chances of ever going to Winterfell, of being part of any of this, of ever being able to make up anything to Arya. “With Arya,” he revealed, her name spoken by him for the first time in years, since he’d said it to her. Jon’s face and the way he subtly crumbled forward reminded him of where he was, of what he was saying. “But I promise, I don’t know where she is,” he swore, immediately removing any hope he might have caused. He couldn’t do anything but cause loss of that hope, that’s all he could bring Jon Snow. “We were separated when the Brotherhood sold me.” He explained, letting Jon know that the Brotherhood knew her too, that Beric had known her.

“You should have told me this.” Jon said quietly, that constant sadness he carried suddenly so much more obvious.

“I know. I know I should have,” he accepted. “But I was afraid you’d send me away. Arya was the only family I’ve ever had,” he said honestly. He’d thought he’d feel it or something like it here with these men, but he didn’t. It had just been her, and he’d never get to tell her. “I know I shouldn’t feel that way, and I know I don’t have a right to it but…” he stopped, knowing there wasn’t anything he could say. She’d offered but he’d known it couldn’t ever be right, but it felt right. Even now, it was still the only right he’d felt. The only easy thing. He hung his head again. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Jon was silent again and Gendry could feel him watching him. “My sister trusted you?” he asked, sounding like he already had an opinion on the matter.

“Yes,” Gendry said anyway, raising his head to meet Jon’s eyes. He’d failed her, but he hadn’t betrayed her. He wouldn’t. It was the one thing he could say with any kind of integrity. “And I trusted her. It’s why I –“

“Why you trusted me.” The King in the North finished quietly as he looked down at the furs covering him.

Gendry wanted the story of their fathers being friends and that bond extending to them, he wanted that brotherhood of them fighting together, but he already had it and it had nothing to do with his father. He had it because he cared about Arya, because he’d liked and respected Arya, and because she’d made him feel like he could be something. And because every time he looked at Jon Snow, Gendry saw Arya Stark. He saw the similarities, and the differences. All of it went back to her. Maybe whatever was with them all didn’t start with him and Arya, maybe it did start with Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon, but for him, anything that truly mattered from it was defined by what he’d had with her. The fact that Jon seemed worthy of all the praise Arya heaped on him just furthered the larger dream, but being here he’d realised it wasn’t the point like he had started to hope. It would never be the point for him. Arya Stark and the belonging she had made him feel was the point, not the father he’d never met whose absence made him feel lost in the first place.

“And you don’t know where she is now?” Jon asked him, tilting his head towards him.

“I swear, Your Grace.” He said adamantly, hoping Jon believed him.

Jon stared at him for a moment before shifting and facing away. “Check the libraries when you get to Winterfell, for anything on dragon glass,” he suggested easily after some silence, as if they hadn’t just been talking about anything else. “I already looked but Sansa has been continuing to restore things. And ask Bran if he knows…anything.” He added with a thoughtful frown.

Arya’s family, Gendry remembered, realising he’d have to face them. He hadn’t even known Bran was alive and he was aware only of whispers of Sansa and the Boltons and what they done to the home of Arya.

“I can’t read, Your Grace.” He said with embarrassment, keenly aware of his bastardness. Though Jon, like Arya, made him feel equal, made him forget how little he had to offer, there were still times like this when he remembered how different he was. Even after what he’d told him Jon was still trusting him with something so important, but he didn’t have the skills outside of a forge to do it. Jon turned his head to look at him again and Gendry could swear there was a new judgement there and it wasn’t long before he felt the need to look away, swallowing as he shifted his feet. Jon’s contemplation stayed as he presumably tried to decide if Gendry was worth it.

“Ask Arya to help you.” Jon finally said, shocking him as he brought his focus back to the King in the North.


	2. Gendry POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This picks up directly after the previous chapter. I wanted that first one to only cover what happened in the original Mention drabble.
> 
> Next will be Arya's POV.

“Your Grace?” Gendry asked in confusion, terrified of hoping.

Jon met his stare. “Arya’s in Winterfell. She’s home.”

Gendry shook his head, not able to understand or keep up with the thoughts running through his mind. “How?” he uttered in a breath.

Jon turned away, clearly also lost in his thoughts. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, a frown marring his expression. He looked back to Gendry “Would you have told me the truth if you’d known she was there?”

“I don’t know,” Gendry said honestly, repeating Jon’s words. “I don’t know where I’d be if I’d known she was in Winterfell,” he continued in something of a daze. How much would be different? Would he have made his way there as soon as he knew? Would it have made a difference? How had he heard nothing of her being there? “How long?” he asked.

“When I was in Dragonstone. Both she and Bran somehow made it home within days of each other.” Jon explained.

“Is she okay?” he asked, not knowing what answer he could get. No one was okay in this war. Where had she been? He knew neither the Brotherhood nor The Hound had seen her in years.

Jon’s frown deepened again. “Bran didn’t give detail,” he almost whispered, worry about her obvious. “Should I trust you with this? With her?” he asked before narrowing his eyes at him. “What do you want from her?” He asked. There wasn’t judgement in the question but Gendry felt anyway.

“I just want to see her,” he said honestly. That’s what he wanted more than anything. He didn’t know and couldn’t how it would be after that. She might hate him. She might not even remember him. “We protected each other, and then we were separated and I didn’t think I’d ever see her again.” He added, making it as simply as he could as he looked down at the floor. She’d made such a mark on his life. He wanted to see if she was how he remembered her, if she still had that fight about her. He wanted to apologise to her. It had been so long that he’d started to question so much about how he remembered everything, about what had happened and they’d been through. He didn’t have a choice about how any of it ended; he wanted again to be able to stand next to her because it was what he’d decided to do, because it was what he wanted to do.

“You’re angry about that.” Jon stated, noticing his mood, noticing even his thoughts maybe.

He raised his eyes. “Yes.” He was angry about a lot of things. Maybe he always had been.

“How did you know who she was?” Jon asked.

“She told me.” He said easily with a shrug, a small smile on his face that Jon returned, both of them thinking about the sincerity of Arya, how uncomplicated she made some things. She’d tell you if she trusted you, she wouldn’t if she didn’t and there wasn’t much in between.

“Ser Davos?” Jon questioned. “Does he know?”

“No. I never told anybody,” he swore with a shake of his head. “I promised her.”

Jon looked down again, only giving a small nod before turning back. “You’re our best chance at making the weapons we need, Gendry,” he started. “I want to see her again too, I want to go home,” he said, his eyebrows raised with sincerity. He sighed, that weight back again. “But I have to do this first,” Pausing, he looked Gendry over. “If sending you to Winterfell gives Arya even the barest of joy, I want to do that for her.”

“What if she doesn’t want to see me?” he wondered aloud before he could stop himself. It was hard not to be influenced by Jon’s honesty, Arya had been the same. “It’s been a long time.” He said, staring down at his feet.

“I’m sure she will let you know.” Jon said and Gendry could hear the joke in his voice, the light.

He gave a quiet chuckle, his shoulders shaking with it. “Yeah.” He agreed. She would tell him to fuck off if she wanted to, and she’d probably shove him again and he would just have to figure out how to start again.

“There’s nothing more dear to me than her, do you understand?” Jon said, the warning clear.

Gendry met his eyes. “Yes, Your Grace.” He didn’t need to be reminded, he already knew how much they cared about each other, it was why he was here.

“Go get some rest. We’ve all got a long journey ahead of us in the morning.” Jon recommended.

“Night, Your Grace.” He said with a dip of his head before leaving.

 

 

Davos grabbed both of his shoulders, nodding as he looked him over. “You can do this.” Ser Davos encouraged with a pat of both hands. Gendry had a memory back to when he’d first left King’s Landing, when Tobho Mott said his farewell after telling Gendry that he didn’t need him and his work anymore. He looked at that goodbye differently now, knowing what he knew. He’d never sought answers to find out for sure if Mott had known who he was and that’s why he’d sent him away, but knowing it was a possibility was enough to change things in his mind. Maybe he hadn’t been unwanted, maybe someone had cared enough about him to send him away from danger. It had been sudden like this too.

“You’ll be glad to have me in Winterfell, like you wanted.” Gendry said, unable to stop himself comparing these two men who had been major influences in different times in his life.

“It’s safer for you there,” Ser Davos pointed out. “You shouldn’t go back to King’s Landing.”

“Jon wants me to make weapons.” He said.

“Aye, he told me.” Ser Davos nodded, staring at him.

Gendry frowned, taking the hint. “What else did you tell you?” he asked, checking, in case. No one was going to make him accidently spill about Arya, even someone he cared about and respected as much as Ser Davos.

“What you didn’t,” he lowered his head, raising his eyebrows pointedly. Still Gendry didn’t say anything. “Running around with a certain Lady the entire Seven Kingdoms was looking for.”

The breath was taken from his lungs somehow, even expecting it. “Ser Davos –”

“Ah lad, I understand,” Davos cut off his explanation. “Bit surprised to hear about things I had no idea about, but…” he said with some humour. He shrugged before looking him over again. “I always knew you were capable of something good.” He concluded with an approving tilt of his head.

Gendry shook his head, feeling so much bubbling inside him, so much he wanted to say now he could. “I didn’t. I failed her, I –“

“Not here,” Ser Davos stopped him. He looked over to the Winterfell men loading the dragon glass, Gendry followed his focus, and further around the yard of Eastwatch. It was still quiet, it always seemed quiet up here, but there was activity of men mulling around, everybody concentrating on their own tasks as they got ready to leave. “In fact, why don’t you go see Jon while I get the last of what you’ll need.” Ser Davos suggested, ending their talk.

 

 

“Yes?” Jon called from the other side of the door when Gendry knocked.

Gendry pushed the door open with some apprehension, stupidly worried in case the King in the North had changed his mind and decided to tell him he was never allowed to go to Winterfell, or see Arya. “Forgive me, Your Grace, Ser Davos said I should come see you?” he said as he poked his head around the door, still holding onto the handle.

“It’s fine, Gendry, come in. Close the door.” Jon ordered as he pushed himself out of bed.

Gendry frowned as Jon even struggled moving the furs off him. “Your Grace, you don’t have to.”

Looking up at him briefly, Jon gave a small smile. “We need to be departing soon anyway.” he reassured.

“Are you okay?” Gendry asked with a frown, watching Jon stand and roll his shoulders with a groan.

“I’m hoping I’ll recover enough to face Cersei Lannister,” he joked with a curl of his mouth. “I’ve never had the pleasure of her one and one presence before but I hear I’ll need some strength,” he added as he shivered and Gendry didn’t know if it was from what had happened to him or the thought of Cersei Lannister. “I don’t remember liking her even from afar.”

“Arya hated her.” He said, hearing Arya list her name in his mind.

Jon stilled and looked at him. “I know she did,” he said quietly, blinking as he looked away. “She wrote to me when they first made their way to King’s Landing.”

“Mycha? And…Nymeria.” Gendry guessed, pausing slightly when Jon quickly looked at him with an intensity.

“She told you a lot,” Jon said, staring at him. Gendry felt his thoughts, his judgement and tried to meet his eyes. “I’m glad she had a friend,” Jon finally settled on before he walked towards a chest of drawers, one of the only pieces of furniture in the empty room. He picked up an envelope Gendry hadn’t noticed. “Give this to Sansa when you arrive and only Sansa. Don’t let anybody else see it, Gendry,” he ordered as he held out the letter. “It speaks of your parentage,” he revealed. “I won’t keep this from my family and they must know so they can protect you.”

“Protect me?” Gendry questioned as he stepped towards him, closing the space.

“You may be the last Baratheon,” Jon said with seriousness. Giving a sigh, tiredness seemed to take over, even some sadness that Gendry didn’t quite understand. Maybe it was just the burdens of the war and what came after. “I don’t know what that might mean for you, for any of us. I appreciate you telling me but Davos was right. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Okay.” Gendry accepted with a nod as he took the envelope. It was an easy thing to agree to, he didn’t want to tell anyone else. Starks, Arya knowing was the only thing he cared about either way when it came to this. It wasn’t like he felt like a Baratheon, he didn’t even know what it meant to be one. Stannis had been callous and so obviously alone, though apparently once he’d been respected, including by Ser Davos. He knew Robert Baratheon whored and drank, thought he’d also had the friendship of Ned Stark of all people. He knew nothing about Renley Baratheon except he’d once been on the council, and then he, like Stannis, tried to make a claim to the throne. What Gendry knew was they were all dead, and they’d all wanted the throne for one reason or another. Somehow he had survived and he had no wants on ever seeing the insides of the throne room, nevermind sitting on damn it. What about him was Baratheon? Last one or not.

“Have you? In King’s Landing, did you tell people? Friends?” Jon asked. Ser Davos’ behaviour outside made more sense now. They’d obviously discussed it, discussed him.

“I didn’t have friends,” Gendry said with a shake of his head. “I was…waiting, that’s all. It wasn’t anything more than that,” he paused, staring down at the envelope in his hands. It should have been a sad thing to say. For a time he’d felt it back there, like nothing he’d do, nothing he’d feel was ever going to matter again. But it made sense now, it had lead to now. “It’s just Ser Davos, any of Stannis’ men that he told,” he swallowed, trying not to scrunch the envelope in his hands. “And…Melisandre. She’s a –“

“I know what she is,” Jon spoke over him, the cold tone making Gendry raise his eyes to him. The King in the North stared at him. “I’m sorry, for what she did to you. She’s banned from the North, I banned her myself,” he paused, a shadow falling over him. “Ser Davos wasn’t able to save everyone from the fate she planned for you.”

“Someone in King’s Landing did know about me, I think. Back at the start of the war. Goldcloaks were looking for me. Didn’t have any idea why. They think I’m dead though, thanks to Arya.” Gendry said after a moment, recognising he was alive, had survived, while someone else had not. And he didn’t want to ask exactly what Jon knew about what had happened. He didn’t want to talk about any of it.

“Arya?” Jon questioned, a frown on his face.

Gendry paused. “They thought they were after her. But they weren’t, no one ever found out,” He reassured. “Someone we were travelling with was killed, Arya told them he was Gendry. Pretty sure it worked because no one looked again…until The Red Woman,” He said, memories he didn’t want in going through him. “Stannis?” he asked. He’d never known what happened to the last of the Baratheon brothers who had wanted to sacrifice him, only that he no longer was around to play a part in the war after the Battle of the Bastards.

“Brienne of Tarth ended his life,” Jon said, but it didn’t mean anything to him, he didn’t know who that was. “She’s a member of the Winterfell guard, you’ll meet her when you’re there.” Jon explained further.

Nodding, Gendry found himself back to thinking about what he so often found himself thinking about. Everything always seemed to lead back to her, even when he’d decided he couldn’t. “Arya didn’t trust her.” He murmured.

Jon frowned in confusion. “Brienne?”

Gendry shook his head, closing his eyes over briefly as he tried to refocus. “Uh, no, the…the Red Woman.”

Fear replaced Jon’s confusion, wide eyes replacing his frown. “Arya met Melisandre?” he asked with a shake in his voice.

“She’s who The Brotherhood sold me to,” Gendry said carefully. Jon obviously knew how dangerous Melisandre could be, but he didn’t know how to tell Jon that the Red Woman wasn’t the worst Arya had been around. Neither did he know how to tell Jon that Arya had challenged the Red Woman, had put herself into a situation that caused such fear on her brother’s face, for _him_ , trying to protect _him_. He looked off the side. “They were going to ransom Arya off to her family. That’s what they do.” He said instead. Gendry had accepted the Brotherhood’s part in all of this, but it didn’t mean he forgave them.

The King in the North was silent as he thought everything over. “There’s another war now,” he finally said, clearly choosing united front first. Gendry didn’t disagree with the choice, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to make the same one. “All the men accompanying you know about you is that you’re going to Winterfell to make weapons to use against the White Walkers,” he refocused, pausing as he stared at Gendry. “And that you’re a trusted friend and advisor of mine.”

Gendry bowed his head, feeling overwhelmed. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he managed to say. Looking back up, he met Jon’s eyes. “Jon.” He tried, giving another dip of his head that he couldn’t help. This was a King standing in front of him, giving him everything. The smile the King in the North gave in response, quiet but bright enough to light up his face as he also dipped his head reminded Gendry that this was Arya’s brother, and that, to Gendry, might be his most important role. He wondered if Jon had any idea how much he looked like her, if he understood why he would call him Jon, if the people of Winterfell had always had to work around what to call Arya Stark as she ordered them never to call her by a title, in an act that demonstrated that she had the power of a Lady, fully expected to be listened to as such and she was choosing to use it. Remembering her telling him that her mother and her sister were and struggling to distance herself from that; it had always suggested to him that it was an established thing in her life, not just her attempt to hide in the war.

“I don’t want to tell you how to do your trade so I’ll trust you’ll decide on which weapons. Something long-range would be helpful though.” Jon said, cutting him from his thoughts.

Gendry cleared his throat, trying not to show what he’d been thinking about. “Yeah, I was thinking daggers and spears as standard because they won’t need as much material, then swords and then if people have favoured weapons I’ll see what I can do,” he said with an easy nod of his head. “I can make arrow tips too.”

Jon nodded. “I’ll have more smiths sent to Winterfell to help you but you’re in command.”

“Of the Winterfell forge?” Gendry asked with raised eyebrows, not quite believing it. He let out a chuckle, feeling slightly dazed. “I didn’t expect that’s how things would end up for me.”

“Do you wish to change it?” Jon searched his face.

“No,” Gendry said surely. “Maybe the way I got here,” he paused before continuing. “Arya and I, we… The things we went through together…”

“Don’t,” Jon cut him off him. Taking a slow, deep breath through his nose, he met Gendry’s eyes. “Arya is alive and she’s home. That’s more than I dreamed possible for a while,” he shook his head. “But if I hear what she had to endure, I…” he trailed off, frowning as he stared down. “I can’t do anything about it from here. I can’t even hold her or try to make her laugh, I…” He sighed heavily, the loudest noise in the room for a while. “If she wants to tell me when we see each other, then – _then_ I’ll hear it,” finally he raised his head again. “ _Then_ I’ll be able to hear it, knowing she’s safe and still my sister.”

Gendry didn’t know how to say he understood, how to say how often and for how long he’d had to stop himself thinking about her, because she wasn’t next to him anymore and probably never would be again and he couldn’t face that reality. “She never stopped trying to get back to Winterfell, or to you,” he offered instead, remembering her fight, her want to get back to where she felt she belonged. Gendry had gotten to one of those things, to Jon, before she had. It shouldn’t have happened this way. He’d never thought he’d meet Jon Snow in any scenario where Arya wasn’t introducing him to her beloved brother. Maybe she’d introduce him as her stupid friend, or as a smith who’d tagged along with her. At least Jon knew he was those things now, even if she hadn’t been the one to tell him. “I don’t know where she’s been since but I do know how glad she must be to be home and how happy she’ll be to see you again.” He said.

Tears filled Jon’s eyes in a way that Gendry thought few ever saw in a King. He inhaled a shaky breath as he opened his mouth. “I’m trusting you with more than just dragon glass.” He said with a harsh, almost broken whisper. All Gendry could do was nod.

 

 

“Right, that’s you then.” Ser Davos nodded as he surveyed the packs strapped to the horse. He kept his attention straight ahead, avoiding Gendry sitting atop the horse. Why these people were trusting him to ride was almost harder to work out than everything else they’d brought him into.

“Ser Davos?” he said, gaining Davos’ attention as he finally looked up. “Thank you. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, in more ways than one.”

Ser Davos puffed out a breath through his nose as he stared at him. His eyebrows raised with the slightest furrow. “I think you may very well have ended up in the North no matter what,” he said with a tilt of his head, his eyes showing everything unsaid. Gendry was sure he was amused, surer still when he became serious again. “Travel safe, we’ll see each other again soon.” He assured.

“Good luck.” Gendry wished him. Their side of things was just as important to all of this going the right way.

“Gentlemen.” Ser Davos said in farewell, nodding at them as the men in front turned their horses to the gate. Gendry watched him after he got his horse to move.

 

 

Gendry had been sure he couldn’t have been colder than he’d already experienced beyond the wall, sure of it. The journey south to Winterfell proved him wrong. The heat he lost from walking, from his own exertion seemed to make a huge difference when he was riding. Every now and then he’d look at the few men with him to see if they were suffering as well, but they seemed unaffected. Maybe all Northerners were as stubborn as Arya. He remembered her being cold though, remembered her shivering, but he’d noticed, she hadn’t complained of it.

He started to worry he’d freeze before making it there and he’d never see Winterfell. The realisation that he’d never see Arya again if that happened made him sit up. Each time he started to feel himself drift as if the cold was taking him, he rolled his shoulders, over and over, concentrating on that thought; he had to make it there. He tried to move his body better with the horse, hoping he wouldn’t annoy the animal to the point it kicked him off.

Finally there was a holdfast, one that looked bigger than anything else they’d past. A castle. And colour. The first real colour he’d seen for a while now. Deep, vibrant red.

“The Godswood.” One of the Northerners next to him said as he nodded where Gendry’s attention was.

“The heart tree.” Gendry found himself saying as he stared at the huge tree.

“Not bad,” The Northerner said from beside him. “I’d have asked if you were sure you’d never been to Winterfell before but the look on your face says it all.”

Gendry had spent much of his life with a red castle standing high, but it wasn’t like this. The sandy rust-coloured Red Keep looked nothing like this. He looked around them, the land still so open even as civilisation stared back. And the smell, the air that he’d been cursing for its temperature – he remembered Tormund and Jon bickering about it. He understood it now. It hadn’t meant much when there was no one else around for endless miles, but he was truly appreciating that crispness now.

 

 

They got escorted through Winterfell. The men that came with him talked to the one leading them through, clearly knowing each other. Gendry tried to focus on what they’re saying, tried to focus on any one thing, but as he looked all around him, trying to see as much as he can of the place, of Arya’s home, everything seemed to blur. He almost tripped on his own feet when he looked up to the balcony surrounding the top level. He found himself taking a check back towards the wagons, part of him not wanting to leave the dragon glass. The second guard who greeted them stood watch of the cargo, so it wasn’t unattended. Still, Jon trusted him with it and the first chance he had away from the dragon glass, he’d found himself taking in interest in something else.

On the way in, between the outer gates and what seemed to be the main one, he’d noticed a large dark building that looked more isolated, detached from the others and he guessed maybe it’s the forge. But there’s nothing else he recognised, nothing else that looks familiar to him, other than the snow, and the grey – the wrong grey. What was he expecting? Arya to be waiting for him at the gate? Maybe Arya was right and he was even stupider now. Still, he couldn’t stop his eyes scanning everywhere they could, just in case.

Similar to the cold, Winterfell continued to surprise him and show him that he didn’t have any idea, even of himself. He was nervous, more than he thought he could be considering what he’d been through, considering his stomach had knotted and his skin tingled since he’d seen the heart tree and everything surrounding it, but his nervousness grew as he waited for them to go inform the Starks of his arrival. He fidgeted, trying to concentrate on how hard it was to breathe in the cold until he realised it wasn’t as hard as before, and he must have been getting used to it, getting used to being in the North. He was still freezing though and sure he wasn’t going to get used to that.

Even inside Winterfell, even with the animals he could now hear, the smell of the air was still fresh. He tried to use it to calm down, taking deep breaths through his nose, but he couldn’t help but think back to how sure he was walking the shore of Dragonstone with Ser Davos when he was about to meet Jon. He knew exactly what he was going to say, and he knew it was the right thing. He didn’t feel any of that now, having no plan and no idea where any of it may lead.

It wasn’t as long as he thought it would be before they’re called inside. The Starks must have already been there.

Through doors and another and Gendry realised he wasn’t sure he could find his way back. He remembered Dragonstone, the little he saw of it. Other than the ruins of Harrenhall, it was his only other experience of a Noble house, lands. Winterfell was different, he could tell that already. Though the temperature was colder, the decoration was not. There was a simpleness that he liked. Dark woods instead of stone or metal, candle after candle providing light.

“Your Grace, Your Grace.” The man in front said, dipping his head respectfully even as he held the doors open. When the man finally moved away, stepping to the side, Gendry saw two people sitting at a long table on the other side of the large room, facing the doors. Two. And neither of them were Arya. He looked back and forth at them, over and over, in case he’s somehow wrong. But they didn’t look anything like her. The woman had red hair, and looked tall, even from where she sat.

“Leave us,” The man at the table said, gaining Gendry’s attention. “Gendry, stay,” He commanded, taking Gendry’s breath away. His tone wasn’t cold, exactly, but there is something…different. Something powerful. A surety, confidence, a lot for someone his age. Again he remembered Stannis Baratheon, his uncaring tone that clearly showed he expected those around to do what he wanted, to listen to him. The man across the room stared at him and Gendry fully realised he’s looking at Arya’s brother, Bran Stark. Jon looked so much more like her, even though he was only a half-brother.

Maybe Jon sent a raven ahead to tell them he was coming, he thought. He must have, considering Bran Stark knew his name.

From the corner of view, he noticed the woman look to Bran as he said Gendry’s name. The doors behind him closed as the men leave but he couldn’t look away from Bran. “This is Sansa, I believe you have something for her.” He said, not even turning to look at his sister, his focus straight ahead on Gendry. It wasn’t that he was impatient, direct, maybe. It was the lack of something in Bran Stark’s voice, not the presence of entitlement that had him feeling bared. It was almost like he was in a trance with the way he spoke, the way he stared.

Gendry blinked, trying to jump his focus. “Uh, yes, this…” he paused as he rummaged under his cloak, finding the letter. “This is from Jon, I mean, His Grace. He asked me to give it to you.” He continued. He wanted to move forward but he hadn’t been encouraged to do so, he didn’t know if he was allowed. Sansa Stark held out her hand, giving the sign to move. Gendry hurried to do what was being asked, taking long steps until he reached the table.

“Thank you.” Sansa said as she took the envelope from him. He took some steps back, dipping his head and hoping he didn’t fall on his face again.

“He’s a Stag, in part.” Bran said easily and again, he’d taken the breath from Gendry as much as any of the Northern cold ever had. Gendry whipped his head up to stare at the Stark but the blank expression on his face gave nothing away. It was nothing like being in Dragonstone, it wasn’t, but again he couldn’t help but think of Stannis. The way he’d known who Gendry was before he did, the way he so clearly judged Gendry. Bran was so obviously more than Gendry, and he didn’t feel the disrespect he had from Stannis, nor the danger, but there was more power from the man in the chair. More power than a place of Dragon’s and the sorcery of bringing people back from the dead and like then, Gendry had no idea where he stood with any of it.

“Jon says he trusts you,” Sansa said as she read; Gendry pulled his attention away from Bran enough to look at her. She looked only at the letter, seemingly unaffected by her brother’s knowledge. “Gendry Waters.” She added, as if saying it to herself, as if she had to say it too. Gendry had been around more nobles than someone of his status should have, but he hadn’t experienced anything like this before. This wasn’t just highborns, it felt like he’d stepped into family dynamics. It was nothing like Arya, he thought as he found himself scanning the empty chairs, wondering which one she sat in, if she ever sat in any of them. Did she take part in all this?

“You’ll only speak with us today, Gendry.” Bran said and maybe he was just getting used to it but something sounded softer in that all-knowing tone. Pity, maybe sympathy.

He lowered his head, swallowing it back and trying to hide what was so apparently obvious about his thoughts, his intentions…his wants. “Yes, Your Grace.” He accepted quietly, tensing his jaw to stop himself from asking what in Seven Hells that was supposed to mean. Would he see Arya another time? Soon? Was he supposed to push back and ask? He didn’t know what he was doing.

“The forge is lacking in manpower. We’ve lost men,” Sansa explained. “But I’ll supply you with what I can for what you need.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” He said, keeping his head down. There was silence and he could feel the way he was appraised.

“And I suppose you should be nearby, friend of Jon and all. You’ll have a room in the main house,” Sansa decided in a slow drone. He heard the implied insult, but he couldn’t tell if it was aimed at him, at Jon or how seriously to take it if she was having him stay in the main house anyway. She didn’t seem like someone to hold back if she didn’t want him there. “Is there anything else?” she asked, taking him from his thoughts.

Shaking his head, he tried to answer. “Uh, no, no,” he looked at both the Starks who stared at him blankly. More than anything he wished for Arya to be there, smirking at his idiocy at dealing with highborns. Or rolling her eyes. Maybe she wouldn’t be sitting at the table, maybe she’d be standing to the side taking amusement from his clumsiness. “Thank you.”

“Come with me, I’ll have someone show you to where you’ll be.” Sansa said as she stood up, pushing her chair back and making her way around the table.

Immediately Gendry lowered his head, as if he wasn’t supposed to be looking at Lady in any position that wasn’t completely composed. Seeing the bottom of her robes as she came closer, he found himself taking steps back until she past him and he fell in line behind her, keeping distance.

“You’re where you should be, Gendry.” Bran said, causing him to stop and turn around. The Stark only blinked at him, nothing about his face showing anything, not even that he had said something. Once again, he had no idea what he was supposed to take from what Bran said. Staring at him, Gendry started to think maybe he did look something like Arya. His hair wasn’t as dark but it was brown. Maybe he looked like Jon at least? Maybe if he smiled, Gendry would be able to tell for sure.

Sansa cleared her throat pointedly and as he turned to face her, he realised Bran only looked like Arya, like Jon, compared to Sansa who was the complete opposite. She’d told him her sister was a Lady, unlike her, and Gendry was starting to see it.

Sansa stopped as they reached the closed doors, turning to look at him. She was as tall as him. Would Arya be that tall now? “Has my brother unnerved you?” she asked.

“Uh, I just wasn’t expecting him to know who I was, before reading the letter, I mean.” Gendry said, finding it hard to meet her eyes. She didn’t have the same problem, boring into him.

“Hm,” she hummed as she looked him up and down. Gendry was aware she was blocking the door, clearly showing she wasn’t done with him and it was up to her. He also realised she hadn’t gotten up to help him, but to question. “How did Jon know who you are?”

“I told him.” He said honestly, hoping it would work in his favour and remembering Jon asking the thing same thing.

The way Sansa Stark lifted her chin and looked down at him showed it definitely had not helped his case, like he’d thought it might. “You sought him out to tell him you’re a Baratheon bastard?”

“No, Your Grace, we were introduced,” he tried to correct whilst being respectful. “By Ser Davos. Stannis Baratheon meant to have me killed, Ser Davos saved me.”

“Oh, I see,” she said. Gendry thought there was a change in her tone, but he wasn’t sure if she was just deciding a new route of judgement. Did she know Ser Davos? Was her pause something to do with what Jon had told him about not being able to save everyone? She opened the door, moving into the hall. “You’ll be shown you where to go,” she nodded towards the member of household who had brought him inside. “A free room in the main house,” she ordered before turning back to Gendry. “Welcome to Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” He said, dipping his head again and starting to wonder if he’d ever be able to stand fully upright in her company. He remembered how he’d immediately reacted to finding out Arya was a Stark, a noble. He didn’t think Sansa Stark would shove him over.

“Lady Stark is fine.” She said after a moment. Gendry had met three Starks before now and he wouldn't have said any of them were calculating, but he could feel Sansa Stark deciding how she wanted to treat him.

“Right, of course.” He nodded, wondering if that was her version. Arya had been outraged at his use of her title. Jon had smiled in approval when he’d dropped his. This was different, Sansa Stark was different. Maybe Bran Stark was different too, he thought as he turned to look through the still open doors to where Bran still sat, now alone in the room and looking like he would stay there for hours yet, like there was nowhere else he had to go or attend to.

“Is there a problem?” Sansa asked in a tone that showed she's commanding the attention.

He stared at Bran who held his eyes from across the other room. No one said anything to suggest this was unusual. Could he ask about Arya? “Uh, no,” he finally said, aware of the presence behind him. What was he going to do? Request to see her? In front of the other Winterfell folks? It was clear Sansa Stark was judging him, didn’t like him and didn’t trust him. Jon may have given his trust to Gendry, but the King in the North wasn’t here. “No, Lady Stark,” he said as he turned towards her again, giving the respect she wanted, using the title she’d given and wondering if he’d ever get to say it to anyone other than her. “The wagons. I’d like to unload them and get settled in the forge, if I can.” He added, trying to refocus on not only what he was here for, but something that may help prove his worth in the eyes of the two Starks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. And for the support of this. It's been a little scary. Not only starting a multi-chapter but also kind of doing it from scratch in terms of readers. So I really appreciate those who are reading this.
> 
> I have no idea if 'Gendry is a Baratheon' is going to be a thing on the show at this point, but it will in this, because as a reader I always thought it was supposed to be important and because why the fuck shouldn't it be a thing? Oh, and I'm sure this will be a surprise to absolutely no one who has ever read anything of mine but yeah, I like dialogue...


	3. Arya POV

“There you are,” Sansa’s voice said behind her. She continued her watch of the yard below, her sister’s presence not surprising her, she’d heard her footsteps before her voice. There were new wagons in the yard, horses tracks still visible. More people continued to come every day. “Arya!” Sansa said louder as she stood on the balcony next to her.

Arya turned to look at her. “Yes, here I am,” she said flatly with more patience she’d have had years before. Patience that had been beaten into her. Beaten into both of them, she thought as she eyed Sansa. She turned forward again. “What is it?” she asked, trying to give her sister at least some the attention she wanted.

“Jon’s sent word, and men, of Winterfell guards.” Sansa informed her as if every day news.

Turning towards her sister, Arya felt her heart beat more than she’d like. “Is he okay? What does he say?” she questioned. Now Sansa was the one facing forward, overlooking the yard below and ignoring her. “Sansa.” She tried, finding their places reversed from before.

Sansa quirked her eyebrow, looking from the corner of her eye and only barely turning her head to face Arya as she noticed she now had the upper hand. “He’s alive. He said it was close but…he’s alive, and going to King’s Landing.”

The beat slowed, something heavier settling in her stomach. “He got one?” she asked.

“It appears so,” Sansa said, her eyes following two Northerners walking across the yard below them. “I suppose it is the best way to convince The Queen.”

“Cersei,” Arya corrected. She knew her name, it was one she’d give to the God of Death. “How long?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa followed her question about when Jon would be back easily. “He sent someone else with the guards, with…supplies.” She added carefully, her tone loaded.

“Sansa.” Arya said, trying to provoke her into detail.

“Dragon glass, with someone who he says can smith it,” Sansa raised her chin. “He needs this man to make weapons to use against the army of the dead.”

Letting her eyes run over her, Arya tried to pick out what was going unsaid, but she couldn’t. “What else?”

Sansa stilled, her focus lifting directly ahead at nothing but the sky, finally giving up on her pretended focus of the people below. “He’s a Baratheon.” She said.

“A Lannister.” Arya assumed the true house.

“No, a Baratheon bastard, King’s Robert’s. Jon believes he could be the last.” Sansa said, again looking at Arya from the corner of her eye.

Arya took the second to think over what it could mean. “He could challenge Cersei for the throne,” she landed on the biggest possibility. “That’s Jon’s plan if Cersei doesn’t agree to fight?” she asked, turning to fully face her sister.

Sansa shook her head. “I don’t believe so. The letter said he’s…a friend,” she added, her mind clearly working as much as Arya’s. She turned, mirroring Arya as they stood together. She stared at her, curiosity obvious. “Have you ever known a Baratheon bastard?” she asked, her eyes slightly narrowing.

Arya frowned, annoyed that she didn’t expect the question and more annoyed she didn’t understand why it was being asked. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Arya.” Sansa tried, repeating their previous back and forth.

Arya couldn’t help the roll of her eyes, a brief action where she lost control of her composure and that made her remember who they used to be. “No, Gods. Why?”

“Nothing,” Sansa dismissed, dropping her appraisal. “Something the letter said,” she said with a shake of her head. “You should meet him.”

“Why?” Arya made a face, still choosing not to limit her reactions. The put-upon sigh Sansa gave helped make that choice easier. This would have infuriated her before, now she kind of liked it.

“Because you’re Lady Arya Stark and Winterfell is hosting him!” Sansa explained as though she had a hundred times.

Arya let her mouth move into a half smirk. Things were different now, but Sansa still adhered to expected politics. She just understood the true value, the insincerity of it now. “You’re better at this than I am, Sansa,” she said with some feeling, almost comforting Sansa. “I can’t bring anything you and Bran won’t.” She reasoned, not interested in any of it. Why should she meet this person?

“He may have stories of Jon.” Sansa said with a taunt, trying to get her way and knowing how to.

Arya stared at her, watching the lines of smugness draw along her face. “I’ll visit him for a new sword.” She conceded.

“Thank you,” Sansa said, the smugness now warmer, genuine as she relaxed, her posture dropping some. Even with the cloak Arya could tell the way the muscles of Sansa’s legs had relaxed, the slight tilt of her stance. “There will be a gathering for dinner, in the great hall. Not a feast but…” she shrugged off the rest of the sentence. “It may be our last one and it’s better to have it now while our numbers are still relatively small. The people may need it, before the end begins.”

“Can we afford it?” she asked, only half-caring of the answer but wanting to show interest to Sansa.

“We can,” Sansa said before looking around them. Arya could have told her there was no one in earshot. “No one knows of his parentage and Jon doesn’t want them to.” She added in a quieter voice.

“Does he know?” Arya asked.

Sansa gave a small frown, as much as she ever did. “Who?”

“The Baratheon.” Arya explained.

“Oh, yes,” she straightened her shoulders again, turning back to the banister. “Yes, he does.”

Arya didn’t move, watching her instead. “Do you want me to welcome him or uncover him?”

“Jon trusts him.” Sansa said with an ease that most people wouldn’t see through. Arya realised she wasn’t sure if the way she knew to look at the lines of her sister’s throat, the subtle angle of her chin and the tension of the tops of her cheekbones was because she knew Sansa, or because she knew how to kill Sansa where they stood without anybody hearing a thing. Maybe it was both.

She let her eyes drop their focus, tensing her upper arms until she slowed down her suddenly quickened breathing. She let herself become Sansa’s sister again before speaking. “What does Bran say?” she asked.

Sansa sighed, frustration all over her as she stared ahead again. “He’s been unhelpfully quiet about it,” she said, clearly thinking over what that meant. Arya wasn’t sure either. She couldn’t read their brother like she could her sister, like she could everyone else. He was different. “But you know what happens after this isn’t his concern.” Sansa added. She was right, but she wasn’t sure it was hers either. Not as long as her family was okay, the North was held and her list completed. Robert Baratheon’s bastard could sit on the throne after all this as far as she was concerned, as long as he left what she cared about alone. But Sansa would worry if they didn’t know.

“I’ll see you for dinner.” She said as she walked past, accepting the request. Training had never prepared her for a sister that would use her learned skills.

 

 

She noticed him the second he wandered into the room, looking lost and like he didn’t have any idea where he was or what he was supposed to do. Gendry. Alive, in Winterfell. Alive, and in Winterfell.

How?

She didn’t understand and Arya wasn’t used to not understanding anymore, to feeling so out of control and taken off guard.

If she didn’t already know he must have arrived today because she’d taken note of every body, every face in Winterfell, the way he looked around the room, how out of depth he was with the loud Northerners at the tables around him gave away that he was a stranger here.

Sansa must have noticed her distraction; Arya could feel her sister stare at her but she couldn’t look away from Gendry.

Gendry. In shorter hair and Northern furs.

“Arya?” Sansa called next to her. “Have you said your greetings to our guest yet?”

Arya didn’t look away from Gendry. “That’s him?” she asked unnecessarily, pleased at least her voice didn’t give her away even if her actions did. Someone to smith weapons. Someone Jon sent. He knew Jon? How, why? Did Jon know she’d known Gendry? A Baratheon bastard… Heat lit in her chest as she tried to understand it all.

“Yes, he…” Sansa started to say but Arya didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear about Gendry, someone that was part of who she was, where she’d been, someone who was hers – she didn’t want to hear that from her sister. Didn’t want to be told who he was now, all these things Arya wouldn’t recognise him in. ‘Have you ever known a Baratheon bastard?’ She didn’t know. Had she? Had she ever known him? She’d told him who she was, told him who and what she loved. What did she know about him? What did he know about himself? “Arya?” Sansa questioned as she watched her stand up from the table. Was Gendry the reason she’d asked her to be here? Arya never ate here, at the head table. The last time she remembered being present for anything like this was for the Baratheon King, the visit that started everything. And now it’s for…Gendry, the Baratheon bastard?

She couldn’t be here. She wasn’t ready, not for this. She didn’t allow for the unexpected anymore.

“I’ll take my leave for the evening.” She said as calmly as she could as she quickly moved from the table. She met Bran’s eyes as she did, he stared at her and Arya understood that he knew everything. It was the first time she found herself thinking it was unfair since she got back. Nothing was fair anymore, it meant nothing. Yet it was there, through her mind. For it, she was annoyed not only at her family but at herself.

“But –“ Sansa trailed off. The confusion as Sansa said her name at least gave away that either she didn’t know everything about her relationship with the apparent last Baratheon or anything at all, at least somewhat quelling the feeling that Sansa may have tricked her. She didn’t know if Bran had let it happen because he thought it important, or something so inconsequential that he couldn’t care enough to say anything about it at all.

“I’m not hungry.” She excused as she walked off. She knew how to be quiet, she knew how to be quick, but she couldn’t make herself invisible as she stepped away from the area of the head table.

Once to the side she kept the walls, easily moving behind those that were standing, crowded together, until she’d edged around to the other side of the room. Gendry was at the same end of the room still, but across, with dozens of Northerners in between. She watched as two men seemed to welcome him and encourage him to sit on the bench they were at. They laughed and Arya was sure Gendry was part of the joke, though not enough to make him leave as he did sit down with them, still looking completely unsure of himself. As she got closer to the door, she started to realise that part of her wanted him to look up, wanted him to notice. She tried to convince herself that seeing his reaction to her was the only real way she could find out what was going on, why he was here, if he knew she was here.

Arya wasn’t sure how much she gave in, how much she let herself be seen, but Gendry looked up, his eyes roaming over a few people until they met hers. It took everything in her not to stumble in her footing, to keep moving. She wanted to run to him, she wanted to yell and hit him for leaving her, she wanted to tell everyone to shut up and acknowledge her friend Gendry Waters. She didn’t do any of those things, she refused to. Instead she let her focus drop away from him and kept her feet moving, step by step until she was through the door.

She heard the noise of the door opening behind her before it had even closed, the laughs and talking of everyone spilling out.

“Lady Stark.” He called. It wasn’t hard to ignore that; she kept walking.

“M’Lady.” He tried again. She almost missed a step with that. The door was closed, blocking out everything but his voice and his heavy footing on the stone of the corridor. He hadn’t learned to step lighter then.

“Arya!” he finally said. She stopped at that one, but she kept her back to him. She didn’t know how to turn around, how to face him and everything he brought with him. Why was here? How was he here? “Arya, please.” He said as he put his hand or her arm, gently tugging her around.

She stared at his hand even as she finally faced him. He dropped it immediately, practically snatching it back as if he only just realised what he’d done. Even with her focus down she saw him look around them, turning to check if anybody was there. That answered some of her questions.

“Gendry.” She said as calmly as she could, trailing her eyes from her arm to his face.

“Arya,” he repeated as he searched her face before he shook his head. “I mean, Lady Stark.”

It made it easier to be cold when he called her that. If he wanted Lady Stark from her, that’s what he’d get. “Jon sent you.” She addressed what should matter to Lady Stark about his arrival.

“Yes.” He gave a single nod, almost bowing as he shifted on his feet.

She clenched her teeth before continuing, trying to block out the want to yell at him, to shove him and – “How is he?”

“His Grace is determined,” he said with a small smile before nodding at her again. “Stubborn, like you,” He paused, his eyes going over her again. She watched the way he swallowed, the bob of his throat. “He misses you,” he added, shocking her, and tearing at the wall she’d decided to put up. Did he think that’s how to speak to a Lady? Gendry telling her about Jon, telling her how Jon missed her wasn’t something she ever expected. No amount of training could have ever presented it. “Did…” he paused. “Did Lady Sansa tell you…I mean, do you –“

“Do I know who you are?” she cut him off and trying to regain control of herself. “Yes.” She stared at him.

“I didn’t know. When we were together, I mean, when we were… I didn’t know.” He rambled, his final words coming out with a breath. He stared at her, clearly waiting and wanting a reaction from her. To be absolved? To welcome him here? She wasn’t going to give it. She already knew he hadn’t known, but when did he learn it? Was he going to tell her if Sansa hadn’t?

“Okay.” She said, staring at him blankly.

He stood back on his heel and stared at her, emotions clear compared to hers. “I know you’re angry with me. I –“

“I’m not angry with you,” she cut him off again. There was so much running through her body, she could feel all of it. The screaming to run, the screaming to fight. She clamped it all down. “It was long ago now.” She said decidedly, hoping to make the point to herself as much as him. She wasn’t that person anymore.

“Yes, M’Lady,” he accepted as he continued to look at her. “I’m glad you made it home. I’m sorry I didn’t get you here.” He continued, sadness and apology and regret in his voice that dug into her, that pulled up the start of all these questions she thought she was done with.

“You’re here to make weapons?” she refocused as she raised her chin. He was still so much taller than her. It had been something both infuriating and wonderful before. She always felt small, weak compared to his frame, a reminder of her lack of power, of physicality. But he was also a comfort in his height, his build. Literally sometimes as well as emotionally. He was always warm, and lying down in the space next to him always helped, always warmed her skin as much as her mind. “With dragon glass?” she continued, reminding herself of the only thing that mattered now. She didn’t lack power anymore, not in her body or mind, even if his sheer presence was threatening every bit of it. She wouldn’t give it up.

“Yes. His Grace advised I check Winterfell’s libraries, for any sources,” he looked at her as he paused, hope suddenly on his face. “But I wouldn’t know how to find anything useful, I can’t read.” He said with a slight shrug of his shoulders and his mouth moving into an unsure smile. She knew what he was asking, knew what he was confiding in her as well and what it must have taken him, but she couldn’t. Even if it was a good idea, even if Jon was the one to suggest it and want it done, she couldn’t.

“I’ll arrange for someone to help you.” She managed to get out. Her breathing was still shuttered, though not enough for anybody but herself to be able to tell. It was enough though, too much. A complete breakdown of everything she’d put together. Because of a stupid bastard smith she’d thought she’d lost.

He dropped his head as he nodded. “Thank you, M’Lady,” he said quietly and she realised she was now like everyone else in his life who’d let him down and dismissed him. “Lady Stark.” He corrected without raising his head, but she could see his heavy frown from her height.

She swallowed, staring at the closed door behind him. “You should go back inside, eat something.” She said, remembering all the times they were starving together, when they shared whatever food they had.

He looked at her first, then to the door where everyone else was feasting and laughing, then back to her. “You’re not coming?” he asked, somehow still wanting something from her. She thought about sitting going back in with him, sitting on that bench with him and the two Northern men who had welcomed him and telling them he was her friend. How much had she wanted that before? She’d thought about simple, stupid things like that all the time. Gendry in her world, her real world, her home, with her. But that was before. Before he chose to leave her, before he told he didn’t want to come to Winterfell and be with her people, before he told her he wouldn’t be her family. Before he decided the people he wanted to sit and eat and laugh with for his life was The Brotherhood, not her.

Wanting to tell him she had somewhere to be, she stared at the door, willing herself to turn to him and just say it. She didn’t have to explain anything to him anyway. But when she did find the strength to face him again, she couldn’t say anything. All she could do was stare at him. Gendry Waters, her Gendry, was standing in front of her, in her home, where for so long she’d wanted him to be, where she’d expected he should be. Now he was here as a Baratheon bastard, and she’d had no part in bringing him here. He wasn’t here for her, or because of her. But he was here. “It’s good you’re not dead.” She quietly said before taking a shaky inhale, something that _trembled_. She turned her back on the way he stared at her, on him standing there and wanting something from her. And she walked away from him, trying to decide who she was.

 

 

Trying to reclaim as much control as she could, she decided to attack at as she best knew how to. Find out what was going on and how she could influence it. She tried to find out as much as possible in the following hours of the night. The feast helped her discover things that could have taken her days. People were talkative, stupid, in a good mood and filled with ale and wine and food. She barely had to interact at all.

Most of it it seemed her sister had already told her when they’d first talked about his arrival.

Still, she found out he’d been North of the wall with Jon, with the White Walkers, and he was close – friends – with Jon. An advisor. It felt like a title he’d been given and she didn’t know what it meant. She found out he was a gifted smith who would lead the smithing of dragon glass to use in the war. The first part of that wasn’t something she needed to learn; she’d already known it personally. She found out he’d apparently been in Dragonstone, though didn’t know why. Had he been there this whole time? Is that where he met Jon? She also didn’t find out anything about if he knew Daenerys Targaryen, or even if she knew who he was. Sansa had given him a room in the main house, best way to keep an eye, she assumed, and it both pleased and enraged her to know he was going to be so close. She chose not to check the room itself and go through his things, though she was annoyed about it. It would have been a smart thing to do that could have given many answers nothing else could, but she couldn’t do it. It felt wrong. Now it seemed she was the stupid one.

There wasn’t enough time to find out anything else and from what she could tell, Bran and Sansa were the only ones who could give her anything else and she refused to ask them when she knew nothing. She’d have to find out from Gendry himself and if it wasn’t from his things, it would have to be from him. He was the one here in her home, he could explain why.

 

 

All 4 main forge fires were lit when she arrived at the smithy, more than had been since she’d been back. And Gendry seemed to be the only one there. She knew that wouldn’t last long. And once they got word from Jon, there would be smiths working day and through the night. She wondered if he’d always be here this late, but then she remembered who he was. Of course he’d be here. He’d probably barely sleep, pounding on steel, on dragon glass, for hours on end.

Gendry, in the Winterfell smithy, making weapons for her brother. Just like she’d wanted.

Except it wasn’t for Robb, it wasn’t for war against the Lannister’s, and it wasn’t because she’d asked him to, or believed it was where he should be.

She’d travelled with him for years, survived with him. Yet Jon had gotten him to do in weeks what she hadn’t in years.

She stood behind him as she watched him melt what must the dragon glass by the blue colour it had. Part of her was pleased she could get the upper hand here, that he had no idea she was there. Pleased she wasn’t completely ruined already. Another part of her was infuriated he didn’t even notice her – she would have noticed him; she had noticed him. Further, she wanted to yell at him for being so stupid and obliviousness. She could have killed him already. Hadn’t he learned better by now? How was he still alive if this was how he was? And then there was something else, Gendry in a forge. It was something she had memories of, something that brought up so much.

Gods, if the Waif saw her she’d judge her for being weak, for being so emotional. But she’d ended the Waif, she thought as she took a deep breath.

“Dragon glass kills them?” she asked, causing Gendry to jump and turn around to look at her. He stared at her with wide eyes. Stared at her. When his focus turned down, taking her in, she had to push down the flutter that went through her and make herself speak, concentrating on what she’d asked. “The White Walkers?”

Gendry continued to look at her for a moment before he took a breath and turned around. “And Valyrian steel,” he said easily over his shoulder. “Which I don’t really know how to smith much more than dragon glass but at least I’ve seen it in a forge before. I thought there might be something similar about the substance,” he shook his head. “But it’s not like Valyrian steel is just sitting around to practice on.” He complained.

Arya watched him as he picked up things, looked at them and then put them somewhere else in the space in front of him, as if he was rearranging things, getting comfortable in the new space he was going to be taking over. How many times had she seen scenes just like this? And his tone, it was as if no time had past at all. She didn’t let herself second guess her reaction to what he said, stepping forward towards him and unclipping her sheath. She pulled out the Valyrian steel dagger, flipping it so she held the blade side. “It could do with a new pommel.” She said as she held out the dagger Bran had given her.

“Arya,” he breathed as he looked at it, obviously recognising what it was. He closed his eyes, shaking his head “Lady –“

“It was used to attack my brother, Bran; it could do with a new pommel.” She repeated, cutting him off before he could use that stupid title. She’d gotten more used to people saying it, she didn’t have the same need to distance herself from it as she had before. She was Arya Stark of Winterfell. It was who she was and who she had chosen to be. But from him? From Gendry who had seen her at her worst, in so many situations that had no propriety at all. He was supposed to be her friend. Once she’d felt like he could have been her family. He’d stopped calling her by her title back then, using her name. If that changed now, it would be like none of it had meant anything. And she needed it to mean something, even now, now when she didn’t want to need much of anything.

Nodding, he accepted the dagger from her. “Thank you.” He said quietly, briefly looking at her.

“I want it back soon.” She demanded, realising exactly what she’d given him. She felt the absence of it on her hip already.

Gendry smiled, breathing a small laugh. “Yes, M’lady,” She found herself swallowing. She was sure she could feel the start of possible tears, emotion choking at her chest and she wouldn’t allow it. She lowered her head. “What is this?” he asked and she looked up to see him stroking his thumb over the handle of her dagger.

“Dragon’s bone, I think.” She said, briefly looking off behind him before returning to his face.

He stared at her wide-eyed. “And you want a new pommel?” he asked.

“I think so,” She said somewhat dazed, staring at the dagger. “You decide,” She met his eyes again and he was staring at her like she’d given him something with those words.

“Have you met Bran?” she questioned as normally as she could as she looked around the forge, distracting herself.

“Uh, yes, when I arrived.” Gendry said, half-turning away with some awkwardness.

Arya scowled. “He’s still Lord here and he can do it fine.” She said, angry on her brother’s behalf, angry that Gendry would be so judgemental and angry at herself for expecting better from him. Maybe this was how the Baratheon bastard was.

“What?” he frowned. “No, I…” he gave a sigh. “He knew who I was. Where I was…where I come from. He knew.” He explained, still uncomfortable.

“Oh,” she mumbled, feeling like an idiot. That used to be him. “He knows a lot now.” She said quietly as she picked up some tongs.

“What does that mean?” Gendry asked.

“He sees things, has visions,” she found herself confiding in him as she played with the tongs. It wasn’t as though no one knew, but still, she was surprised how easy it was to tell Gendry – how easy it still was to tell him. “Things that have been, things that may be.”

Gendry looked down, hiding his face from her. She remembered when his hair would have covered his forehead. Now she could see the distress there, along his brow. “It was like he could read my thoughts,” He said, making her wonder what exactly her brother had said to him, what had he seen in him. “He doesn’t seem…” he paused again. “At peace.”

“This isn’t a time of peace,” Arya pointed out, suddenly feeling very tired. Something, the fight, that used to alight her now was draining her. He raised his eyes and looked down at her. “What?” she asked, starting to frown at him.

“Nothing, M’Lady.” He said almost softly, his eyes closing slightly and the smallest quirk of his mouth. Then he reached out and took the tongs from her hands.

She took a breath through her nose, standing taller. “Have you seen them? The White Walkers?” she continued back to the earlier point, trying to balance herself and control this better.

“Yes,” he said easily, apparently not thrown like she was. “But not like the others, I didn’t fight many of them. Jon sent me back to get help.” He said. Jon apparently didn’t need his title, she noted.

Looking over him, she saw something unsaid on his face. “From what I’ve heard, everyone would have been dead without it,” she prompted but he only looked at her blankly. “Help.” She clarified, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah,” he muttered, dropping his head away from her eyes before directly looking at her again. “I fell. In the snow, on my face, I fell, before I could get help. I was close enough Ser Davos found me anyway but, yeah.”

She pressed her lips together as she tried not to laugh, but her shoulders shook as she set her eyes down and she could feel a smile breaking through. She bit her lip, trying to stop it but she let out a slight giggle, seeing Gendry falling face first in the snow in her mind. She wished she could have seen it, perhaps in a less dire time. Did she still wish for things that didn’t involve death? It used to be that she didn’t, she had stopped all of that. Then finding out about Jon, then Bran and Sansa and suddenly Winterfell itself mattered again. Now Gendry, again.

“Yeah. I guess I wasn’t really prepared for the North.” He said, a grin on his face as he shook his head at himself.

She lightly cleared her throat. “You still got the help. Saving the day while still falling on your face,” she shrugged as she met his smile. “It’s impressive.”

“Thanks.” He said quietly before looking around himself awkwardly.

She watched him, not sure what she was thinking and hating that she didn’t hate it. “Does Jon know you and I…” she started, letting her stray thoughts seep in as she stared at him. “Knew each other?”

“I told him, before coming here,” he gave a single nod. “I didn’t tell him at first. I couldn’t. I –“

“You were ashamed.” Arya finished for him.

“Of failing you,” he snapped, his eyes boring into hers. “I didn’t know if you were alive. How could I tell him that? I knew what he meant to you. I offered my service to him, it was all I had left and the only thing that could ever make up for failing you.”

She couldn’t speak, so much pressing at her, clawing at her insides. Her breathing was heavy, weighted, and she was getting sick of it. “I thought you would be dead.” She said as steadily as she could.

“I probably should be.” He muttered.

“But you’re not. How?” she finally asked, looking at him standing right in front of her. “How did you get away?”

“Someone helped me. Ser Davos. He’s with Jon. He used to be loyal to Stannis Baratheon, but he disagreed with how he started to fight the war, with…The Red Woman and her fires,” he explained, shuttering at the mention of The Red Woman. For many nights Arya had killed her in her dreams. For many days she’d listed her name. “He let me go, put me on a boat,” he continued, not noticing of her distraction. His words finally seemed to get through to her. “He found me again recently, introduced me to Jon. I joined them.”

She knew of Ser Davos Seaworth. Sansa liked him. But he was a man of Stannis Baratheon, had been for most of his life as far as she could tell. And he’d apparently cared for Stannis’ daughter like she was his own. Both those Baratheon’s were dead, but Gendry, a Baratheon bastard, was right here. “Would he be loyal to you?” she questioned. Gendry only frowned in confusion. “He served Stannis Baratheon, supported his claim to the throne.” She added.

His frown cleared but he looked angry. It had been a long time since she’d seen that. He peered at her, as if he couldn’t believe he was looking at her. “Do you think I want it? Do you think that’s why I’m here?”

She raised her eyebrows, trying to throw off the obvious insult he was feeling and pushing back at her. “That isn’t the point.” She dismissed, keeping her expression blank.

He practically scowled at her, shaking his head before standing straight and letting his shoulders drop, his frown with them. “Ser Davos followed Stannis Baratheon out of friendship, and because he believed he was a good man. Your brother trusts him.” He nodded in gesture. He sounded so sure. He believed it, he wasn’t lying.

“Men trust stupidly.” She argued, refusing to let him move her on this, refusing to let him be the one to tell her who Jon was right to trust. Jon was the one to trust a Baratheon bastard for no apparent reason, who had sent him here.

He turned away from her and she felt his disappointment. It angered her. “You’ll meet him, you can decide for yourself if he should be trusted.” He said as if he knew better, as if what she said now didn’t mean anything because it would change and he was sure of it. He shouldn’t be sure of anything she would do or think or feel, not anymore. Especially not when she felt so unsure of him.

“What do you want?” she snapped at him, feeling the scowl she gave him warping her features, tightening her face in a way she wasn’t used to anymore. She didn’t give this much, anymore. “If not for the throne, why are you claiming yourself a Baratheon?”

“I’m not,” he said with a sigh as he looked at her. His eyes searched over her, staring at her again. “I told Jon because I didn’t want to lie to him. Our fathers were friends,” he said. His tone was sincere, she didn’t hear any lie, but he focused down, avoiding her, avoiding telling her something. Then he took a breath, changed his mind and did it again and Arya felt the need to protect herself. “I think your father knew,” he finally said as he met her eyes again. “The way he looked at me…” he trailed off and Arya heard white noise as she realised what he was saying. “I didn’t think about it till after, I thought he was just…being a noble, but after… I thought about it again,” he paused, staring into her eyes. All she could focus on was the way his chest had started to heave, up and down with every breath. “Arya…”

“Don’t.” she cut him off.

He took a step closer to her and she shook her head but couldn’t make herself say anything. “But it might have been my fault, because I –“

She ran.

“Arya!” he called after her but she moved faster, remembering trying to run towards her father, save him, before Yoren stopped her.

 

 

She ended up in the crypt, staring up at the statue of her father.

“He did know.” Bran said behind her, apparently having no trouble getting down here. She’d heard him coming, but not as much as she should have. She wasn’t sure how much he slept now. She wasn’t sure he ever rested.

“It doesn’t matter.” She said, numbness in her voice. Not the way she wanted, not the way she trained to feel. This wasn’t victory, this was defeat. It wasn’t control, it was loss.

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Bran said, completely calm compared to the chaos she could feel churning in herself.

“What does it change now?” she questioned as she stared up at the stone. “That statue will still stand, _still_. He’ll still be dead.” She said, starting to feel rage, starting to feel that unfairness again.

Bran was only quiet for a moment. “Did you know you could love a Stag?” he asked.

She snapped her head towards him. “He’s not…” she closed her mouth and tried again. “I didn’t…” she trailed off, wondering, did she? Had she? She didn’t miss her first response was to dismiss him as a Baratheon, as something she didn’t know him as, instead of dismissing how she might have felt about him. She was sure her brother hadn’t missed it either. “Bran.” She whispered. How had she lost so much control in only a few hours? How had he not warned her?

“I’m sorry, sister. I don’t mean to make things more difficult for you.” Bran said and she heard Gendry’s words about feeling like Bran was reading his thoughts.

“Will he sit on the throne?” she asked, trying to get an answer.

“Do you wish to be Queen, sister?” he asked a question. She stayed silent, not even able to comprehend the question. “He said he doesn’t wish for it.” Bran finally added, still not giving her an answer.

“But will he? Will it happen anyway?” she repeated, now fully turning towards him and away from the line of statues. Bran may know what Sansa had been worried about, what hours before she didn’t care about but now it was all she could think of. What they could do to Gendry in order to ascend him, or keep him from power. She’d seen it, what they would do, what it would cost. None of it would be about him, about who he truly was or what he wanted, it would all be a game for Seven Kingdoms. It already had been and she should have already known. Goldcloaks, looking for him, wanting him dead. He’d told her. Both Hands had died a week after finding him. He’d warned her. And she’d missed it this whole time. And someone else had known in King’s Landing, someone else could still know.

“It depends.” Bran hedged, only blinking at her.

“On what?” she asked.

“Do you wish to be Queen, sister?” he repeated his question in the same tone as before, staring at her as if it were a new question.

“Never!” she yelled, taking a step back from him.

The only sign he gave that she’d reacted was the slightest lift of his eyebrows. “Then you shouldn’t worry about an unlikely future. We have other enemies to meet first.”

“Did you know he was coming here?” she asked. He stared at her, answering her in silence. Yes, he’d known. She exhaled. “Will you be with us for dinner tomorrow?” she asked in a kinder tone, referring to the dinner they and Sansa had taken to sometimes having since they’d all come back together.

“Yes.” He said, blinking at her. Her brother. Different, somehow both less and more at the same time than what he’d been before. But still her brother. She gave him as much as she could, a small smile that she allowed herself to feel, and to show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> I hope you're all liking this.
> 
> I had planned most of this fic before the new season started and some things I decided have also come up in the show (like the dagger) but I'm not going to let how the show is going change what I've planned. I think it will just totally get away from me and I won't be able to write it, if I do. And I had not figured the forge to be like it is on the show and I actually still can't figure it out. Have they added to it just for this? Who are all those smith? I assume from other Houses but why do none of them care that Arya Stark just keeps wandering in?
> 
> Gendry POV next.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> I'd love to know how readers feel about this, especially if you've been a reader of my Arya Mention drabbles and how this compares.
> 
>  
> 
> <https://secondfromtheright.tumblr.com/>


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